Riven rubbed his brow, staring at the scattered ingredients as if one of them might whisper the answer. “Do you have any idea how to bind them?”

  Joseph shook his head and let out a small laugh. “Didn’t get that far, kid. I was never able to power the runes.”

  Riven sighed, long and frustrated: “Well we have to figure it out. We only get one chance. I cannot fail.”

  “Relax lad”, Joseph said, tapping the table with one thin finger. “You need a clear mind when routing a construct.”

  “I know”, Riven muttered. “I know.”

  Joseph puffed out his cheeks and let the air go in a slow stream. “Ahh, it can’t be that complicated…think about it. Druids follow the rules of nature, they serve them and we do as well. Everything in nature has a purpose and lives in communion with the rest. So think of the vessel as a water glass.”

  Riven raised both eyebrows. “A water glass?”

  “Yes”, Joseph said with a grin. “A water glass has a simple purpose at first glance: To hold water. But if you look deeper its true purpose is to make a man’s life easier. Sure it holds water but it does so with efficiency. It does not rot like a wooden mug or waste half the drink like cupping your hands. It is quite the construct when you think on it. Efficient in trade, durable through time. Yet it breaks easily, which also means something.”

  Riven’s eyes narrowed as the thought clicked into place: “The more you push a construct toward perfection in one trait, the more you lose in another. Those become the flaws and weaknesses.”

  “Right my boy”, Joseph said with a proud nod. “It has to be so, nature seeks balance. So you must decide what you want it to become. Once you know that you can accept the flaws that result.”

  Riven let out a groan. “That only gave me more questions. Where do I even begin.”

  Joseph scratched his beard. “Well, if we follow the glass example, I suppose we begin with the form. The shape of the vessel is significant to its purpose. So what is it going to be?”

  Riven stared at the table, thinking. “If it is a scout it must be small and easy to hide. It must be quick. So maybe… something akin to a weasel, but I want it to fly as well…so wings, and I want it to be durable. Should I give it armor, ahh I can’t decide.”

  Joseph’s eyes lit with interest: “Let’s pick all that apart, and start with the armor. How about bone plates or something like strong scales.”

  Riven nodded slowly. “So a mix between a weasel, a bird, and a lizard right? If that’s the case we need more things, more ingredients.”

  “Indeed”, Joseph said. “We will carve the vessel from strong wood, not brittle bark. I will help you with that.”

  Riven’s heart beat faster. For the first time he could picture it not only as an idea but as something real. Something he and Joseph could shape with their own hands. A creature of purpose. A creature that would serve, scout, and watch over him as he moved toward the truth.

  A new silence fell in the cabin, warm and full of possibility, while the moonlight filtered in through the window and brushed the unfinished carvings with a pale silver glow.

  After hours of talking, sketching, arguing, and sketching again, the two finally agreed on the mix. Part weasel for speed. Part rat for the sharper sense of smell that Joseph insisted on. Wings of a sparrowhawk for lift and swift maneuvering. A touch of salamander for regeneration and endurance. It sounded strange to say out loud, but in the flow of druidcraft it made perfect sense. A scout was only as useful as the senses it carried.

  Riven took the task of gathering the extra pieces. Feathers, scraps of bone, a thin strip of salamander hide, a pinch of rat blood, all carried back in clay pots and wrapped leaves. Joseph stayed behind to carve the body. He had always spoken humbly of himself, but when Riven returned and saw what he had created, he stood speechless.

  The wooden creature lay on the table like some intricate toy for a noble child, every detail carved with care. The long sleek body of a weasel stretched into narrow shoulders, the wings folded along the back as if ready to spring to life. Thin grooves marked where scales would form, a faint suggestion of teeth, delicate ridges around the eyes that gave it a spark of character.

  If they had not needed it for the ritual, Riven might have kept it simply to look at. Or hung it by the cabin door for visitors, if they ever had visitors. It was beautiful in a way he had not expected.

  Joseph wiped sweat from his brow. “Well lad, I hope it lives up to that look on your face.”

  They set to work at once. Together they etched a transmutation circle into the wooden floor of the cabin, carving symbols Riven recognized from Torvil’s books and others Joseph added from memory. They lined the grooves with herbs ground into paste, their scent earthy and sharp. Then they hollowed the wooden body as much as it would bear, packed the inside with the ingredients Riven gathered, and finally placed the fragment from the shadow creature that killed his father deep in the center.

  The runes carved into the wood glimmered faintly under the moonlight.

  Riven knelt beside the circle, heart thudding. This was it. The final moment. One try. One vessel. One chance. What if he failed. What if his power faltered. What if he had misread something, misunderstood something, or lacked the strength to bind it all together.

  Joseph placed a hand on his shoulder, warm and steady. “Relax lad. You can do this. You have been through worse. You even cheated death. Compared to that, this is nothing but a simple operation.”

  Riven nodded, taking several deep breaths. He reached for the flow inside him, the green spark Torvil had awakened.

  “Hold on”, Joseph said suddenly. “I almost forgot. My father taught me a rune to help refine power. To guide it. To keep it flowing steady like pushing water through a pipe. He hoped it would draw something from me but it never did. Still, I hope it will help you now.”

  Joseph crouched and drew a small twisted symbol in the floor right in front of the wooden vessel. Riven leaned forward. He did not recognize it. It was unlike any rune in Torvil’s books. A strange pattern, looping and curling, easy to overlook but oddly balanced.

  “Ready now”, the old man said.

  Riven hesitated. A part of him whispered questions. Another part said there was no time for doubt. He decided to trust Joseph a long time ago. The man had saved his life, given him shelter, and helped him come this far, no time for doubts now. So he let the worry fall away.

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  He closed his eyes and visualized the creature he wished to call forth. Small. Fast. Silent. Keen sight. Keen smell. A scout in the shape of a chimera. A companion with purpose etched into its very being.

  He inhaled.

  Exhaled.

  Then he opened the path of power inside him and sent it flowing into the circle.

  The circle lit with a soft orange glow, the runes waking one by one like stars flickering into life. The wood around the lines trembled as the energy moved. From the rim of the circle thin paths of orange light crawled inward, not straight, not balanced, more like cracks spreading across dry earth. Some moved fast, others lagged behind, jerking and twitching. Riven felt his focus waver, his mind clouded by visions of his father’s death, anger started to boil inside. His breath caught.

  Steady, he told himself. Steady.

  Then, as the first lines neared the center, Joseph’s refining rune came alive.

  The small symbol the old man had drawn flared bright gold, then settled into a steady glow. A thin ring of light formed around the wooden vessel, and when the crooked orange cracks touched that ring their color shifted at once. Blue light surged along the paths. The lines straightened, sharpened, became clean and true as if the wood itself had been carved anew.

  Riven’s doubt dissolved like smoke. Joseph had been right. It was a rune meant for refining.

  The runes carved in the wooden creature began to glow blue in response. A high, faint hum filled the air. Then the scent of warm resin drifted upward as thin wisps of steam curled out from the hollow belly of the sculpture. The ingredients were reacting. This was the critical moment, the point of no return.

  Riven pushed more power into the circle, teeth clenched, mind locked on purpose. Speed. Stealth. Sight. Smell. Flight. Endurance. A scout. A companion.

  Joseph stepped closer, eyes wide. “Keep it up lad, I think it is working.”

  The wooden body darkened in spots. Red patches appeared beneath the surface like rising bruises. They grew quickly, spreading up the flanks and across the wings. Blood seeped through the wood in tiny beads, yet the structure held firm, refusing to crack.

  Moments passed, tight as drawn bowstrings. Then the red began to fade. It turned a murky brown, then softened into a deep green. The entire creature shifted in hue, wood becoming something else entirely. The wings followed, darkening leaf by leaf, feather by feather.

  Scales emerged.

  They pushed through the green surface in small shimmering plates, like a lizard’s armor growing in real time. Joseph let out a long whistle.

  “Ain’t that a thing of beauty!”

  Riven did not look. His eyes stayed closed, his mind fixed on the image he carried. He trusted Joseph’s voice to guide him. He held the flow steady. Pushed harder. Focused until the world shrank to a single purpose.

  Then something changed.

  He felt the energy shift, no longer sinking into dead material, but meeting something that pushed back gently as if in greeting. It was the same sensation as healing a wound, when the body’s own will joined with his. The creature was no longer a vessel. It was becoming something alive, but there was also more, it felt like it was adapting…adapting to the purpose set upon it but also to Riven himself.

  Riven gasped softly. A second sensation suddenly rose. Sight…Another pair of eyes opened somewhere in front of him. He saw himself kneeling at the circle’s edge as if looking through a narrow visor. The creature could see, and it saw him. It was real.

  He tried to turn its gaze toward Joseph, but the vision remained fixed forward. Its neck had no movement yet, stiff as carved wood. That made sense. Some parts still needed to form.

  He pressed more power in. Then he felt it. A barrier. The flow could go no further, as if a wall had risen inside the circle. He hesitated. Was it complete? Should he stop?

  Joseph had been silent these last moments, which made Riven uneasy. The boy decided to have the creature look for him. He pushed the command through the bond. The creature turned as much as it could but saw no one except Riven’s. No sign of Joseph. No breath. No footstep.

  Odd, Riven thought. Where…

  “It is ready lad, you can slowly reduce the power now”

  Riven flinched at the sudden voice.

  “You have done it. Open your eyes. By the gods, you really did a fantastic job. I was too stunned to speak.”

  Riven opened his eyes.

  Joseph stood by the edge of the bed across the room, far from the circle. Riven had not heard a single step. Not a whisper. Had Joseph moved at all, or had Riven simply been too lost in the ritual to notice.

  He had no time to think on it. His eyes fell on the creature in the center of the circle.

  His breath caught, awe stealing the words from his tongue.

  The creature stood in the center of the circle, small yet uncanny, as if the forest itself had shaped it from root and shadow. Two shades of green covered its body, a lighter tint along the belly like sunlit moss, a darker hue along the back like pine needles in deep shade. The wings were a rich dark brown, almost the very color of tree bark. The ears alone held no scales. They were soft and furred, twitching with alert curiosity. Its claws and teeth glimmered faintly red, the same red found in autumn leaves just before they fall. Yet it was the eyes that pulled Riven forward, two pits of pure black, cold and depthless, like staring into a void in the earth. A shiver crept down his spine. Those eyes were frightening, haunting even. Then he remembered the moss and the dark liquid he had placed inside the vessel, the remnant of the creature that had killed his father. That could explain it in a strange unsettling way.

  Before he could dwell on it a wave of dizziness struck him. He grabbed the nearest table for support. His vision split in two. One view showed the cabin, Joseph on the far side, the circle still glowing faintly. The other view looked down from a lower height, the creature’s height, sharp and vivid. He smelled sap and woodsmoke, yet he also smelled the herbs on the table. He heard his own breath and the faint flutter of the creature’s wings. Every sound echoed like overlapping whispers.

  Panic settled in him.

  How am I supposed to live like this, he wondered. Could it be shut off? Could he choose when to see through the creature’s eyes and when through his own?

  He experimented. When he closed his own eyes the creature’s view remained. When he ordered the creature to shut its eyes the vision faded and he saw only with his own. That was something, at least, but what about the other senses.

  A sudden terrifying thought flashed through him. Feeling. If they were linked in sight, smell and sound, then what about what they felt?

  He swallowed and croaked an order for the creature to come closer. It obeyed at once, gliding forward on quiet paws. Riven picked up a pine needle from the table, hesitated, then pressed the sharp tip against the creature’s ear.

  A small sting jabbed his own ear in the same spot. He hissed and jumped back.

  “Damn it”, he muttered. “We are tied together on all senses. If it gets shot out of the sky or crashes into a wall it will heal, but I will feel every moment of it.”

  Joseph scratched his jaw. “Well lad, that must be the flaw. Every creature must have one. I do not know how to help you there. Maybe there is a workaround, but it will take more studying.”

  Riven frowned. “What about its regeneration, just how strong is it, and will any of it pass to me?”

  Joseph let out a short laugh. “You would be very lucky if it did. How are you going to test it. If you cut its tail it will grow back, that much is certain, but can you handle the pain, and what would the creature think about its master?”

  Riven stared at him. “Are you joking at my expense, I will never hurt it”

  Joseph shrugged with a faint smile. “No better time for it lad. We were both new at this craft and yet somehow we did it. But, yes, with a cost.”

  A cost indeed, Riven thought. A bond woven too tightly. A companion whose wounds would be his wounds, whose pain would be his pain, and if this creature ever suffered in battle he would suffer beside it.

  What other strange mysteries would he discover before their training ended?